


Red, White, And Blue

by frostfall



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Pining, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 01:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20331466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostfall/pseuds/frostfall
Summary: The petals are red, white, and blue and Tony hates that they’re the colours of the American flag.God bless fucking America.(Or flowers start growing in Tony's lungs.)





	Red, White, And Blue

**Author's Note:**

> For those who don't know, Hanahaki Disease is a fictional disease in which the person suffering from it coughs up flower petals due to one-sided love. It typically ends when their affections are returned or if they die.

The first petal slips out from his lips three hours and forty-nine minutes after he gets the letter.

It’s raining outside, droplets noisily pelting the window pane. Tony’s about to reread the letter for the fourteenth time when he coughs.

He watches the petal fall out of his lips with a frown because there’s no way a flower could be this shade of blue and how the hell did a flower get inside his— his—?

Tony blinks, his heart stilling.

_Oh._

* * *

If anyone asks Tony when did he first fall in love with Steve Rogers, he wouldn’t be able to pinpoint the exact moment.

Maybe it was after he fell from space and woke up to a pair of clear azure eyes.

Maybe it was at the shawarma place where he watched Steve swiped away stray blond locks from his sleepy eyelids.

Maybe it was when he rushed into the hospital room to find Steve laughing at a stupid joke Sam made.

Maybe it was when Steve began making himself at home in his workshop, spending his time sketching and chatting with Tony about everything and nothing.

Maybe it was when Steve unknowingly pulls him close against his chest as they laid on a bed meant for a kid on a farm in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe it was when Steve quietly told him how much he’ll miss him.

If anyone does end up asking him, Tony will tell them that it doesn’t matter because it really doesn’t.

* * *

It’s not so bad at first. The petals topple out of his lips in ones, sometimes in twos or threes. Tony easily snatches them up and pockets them before anyone notices. He hates to admit that there’s a part of him that’s irrationally angry that no one notices.

Sure Rhodey and Pepper get up his ass about his excessive coughing, Peter worries on the phone, and Ross would shoot him scowls across the room when he inhales a little too loudly, but no one bothers to ask about the growing lumps in his pockets.

“Are you even listening to me, Stark?” Ross demands as Tony shoves another fistful of petals into one of his slacks’ pockets. They’re oddly damp.

“Loud and clear,” Tony says with a half-hearted wink. He gets a ten minute lecture but it’s worth watching Ross splutter in front of a large group of officials.

Later when Tony’s able to lock himself up in a bathroom stall, he whips them out.

Even on the ride home, he’s still amazed that no one notices the blood on his hands during the entire meeting.

* * *

Vision is the first one to find out because of fucking course he is.

“Mr Stark,” he begins carefully, “if you don’t mind me asking, do you know who—?”

“Drop it,” Tony interrupts harshly. “No.”

“I can fetch—”

“_No_.”

“I—”

“Tell me, Vision,” Tony begins. “In what universe would Steve Rogers fall in love with me? Hm? What universe?”

For a split second, Tony lets himself feel satisfied by the slight flinch on Vision’s face. It’s cruel and selfish but just for a moment, he wants to feel something other than anger and hopelessness.

Once upon a time after he saved himself, he promised he’d stop doing that – hurting the people he cares about. They don’t deserve this. Deserve him.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Vision asks politely.

Tony’s eyelids flutter shut. Just like that, he’s taken back to simpler times.

“Sure.”

* * *

The petals are red, white, and blue and Tony hates that they’re the colours of the American flag.

God bless fucking America.

* * *

One day, she drops by.

Tony wonders if Natasha’s only checking in because of guilt or Steve asked her too. The thought of Steve making such a request makes his heart squeeze.

Today, her locks are a chestnut brown and they’re tied in a tight ponytail. They bob in place as she sweeps his workshop with a lingering gaze.

“So, how’s life as a fugitive?”

Natasha shrugs as she drops herself onto his couch. “Same old. You okay?”

He manages a smile at the genuine concern seeping through her words. “Always.”

Her brow furrows but she doesn’t comment. Tony wouldn’t be surprised if she can notice how shallow his breathing is starting to be. He hopes that there isn’t a petal stuck to the corner of his lips.

“If you’re curious,” Natasha says, “he’s fine. Moping. But he’s alive.”

“Where’s his boyfriend?”

“Cryo.”

Tony’s fingers still, half-curled around his coffee mug. His throat squeezes tighter. He sucks in a breath, metal and nectar filling his nostrils.

“If he wants to brood, let him brood.”

If Natasha notices the lone tear rolling down his cheek, she doesn’t comment.

* * *

Tony won’t deny that there’s a tiny part of him that there’s a possibility that he could beat death again.

He’s a genius, for fuck’s sake. He should be able to save himself from dying. He survived Afghanistan and Siberia. He has flown a nuke into space and survived a bombing to his house.

Over and over again he has beaten death. He can definitely do it again.

But no matter how many experts he’s counselled, the many hours wasted researching and experimenting, the number of sleepless nights he goes through, nothing could stop the blood and flowers flowing out of his lips.

It’s all Steve fucking Rogers’ fault. Steve fucking Rogers who drove his shield into Tony’s heart, Steve fucking Rogers who left him in a bunker in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, Steve fucking Rogers who’s in love with a ghost of a man, Steve fucking Rogers who lied and lied and lied and—

Then again, Steve fucking Rogers isn’t the fool who fell in love with someone he could never have.

* * *

Once upon a time, Steve returns to the Tower with a bouquet in his hands.

Tony’s lips twist into a wide smirk as he leans against the counter. “Well, well, well. Someone has a secret admirer.”

Steve blushes. To this day, Tony can’t figure out how anyone is capable of turning pink all over.

“Uh, no. I was just— I bought them for myself.”

“Never pegged you for a flower guy.”

“I never was one,” Steve admits. “Was allergic to flowers before the serum. I just felt like buying some. To liven up my room.”

Tony helps him search for a vase. There’s a glass one tucked behind one of the cabinets, tall and covered in dust.

“Why daffodils?” Tony asks as he watches Steve rinse it.

“The florist told me they mean ‘new beginnings’,” Steve replies. “Seems appropriate.”

The shy smile he flashes Tony is blinding. Maybe this is when he falls in love with Steve Rogers.

* * *

Peter doesn’t accept his invitation and it hurts.

Tony gets it, understands even. But it still hurts.

So all he could do is climb on-stage and announce the large sum of money he’s donating to forty different charities before he gasps for breath.

* * *

“No,” Tony mumbles into his sleeve. “Just one— Just one more.”

Vision carefully pries Tony’s fingers off the whiskey bottle. “I think you’ve had quite enough already, Mr Stark.”

Tony almost tells him to fuck off if it isn’t for his treacherous lungs.

* * *

He was seven when he learned about the cursed disease and wondered how could anyone die because of love.

He was ten when he was certain that he’ll find someone who’ll love him with every fibre of their being.

He was eighteen when he swore off love because nothing good can ever come out of it.

He was twenty-one when he was glad his mother didn’t need to suffer from the flowers growing in her chest.

He was thirty-eight when he was kidnapped and the idea of flowers blooming in his lungs was the furthest thing from his mind.

He was forty when he was on the brink of death, wondering if palladium poisoning was a better way to go.

He’s forty-six and broken when he wishes he has never been born.

* * *

After Vision finds out, Tony vows to do better in keeping his condition a secret.

It’s a bad idea, a horrible one even. He has the memories to prove it.

But Pepper’s too busy saving Stark Industries and Rhodey's at therapy and Peter’s in school and Natasha’s god knows where and he’s alone. 

Sure, he has Vision but he’s too busy mooning over Wanda half of the time. It’s not the first time he’s envious of him.

So it’s better off that no one else knows. They’re better off not knowing. They have better things to do than cry over him.

But then Rhodey finds him heaving into the toilet bowl one morning, yellow and red staining his teeth and well, it’s not a pretty sight.

“How the fuck did you get in here?” Tony demands before his eyes roll to the back of his head.

When he wakes later, Rhodey says instead, “I’m going to kill him,” and continues wiping the blood off Tony’s lips.

Tony barks out a laugh. It’s low and chesty.

“I didn’t even tell you who it is,” he says and shuts his eyes to avoid Rhodey’s pointed but worried look.

* * *

Tony collapses onto his couch after another draining meeting with the spawn of Satan.

He coughs out more petals. He doesn’t know whether they’re red because it’s their natural colour or the blood.

* * *

Steve Rogers will never know what it’s like to have flowers growing in his chest and Tony hates and hates and—

* * *

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Boss?”

Tony smears the blood on the blue petal between his fingers. “Could you scan this for a sec?”

FRIDAY is quiet for a short second. “It is the petal of the Narcissus flower. It is the genus of predominantly—”

“Narcissus?”

“It is commonly known as the ‘daffodil’.”

Tony’s breath hitches. He briefly wonders if it’s because of the flowers growing in his lungs.

“What does it mean?”

FRIDAY doesn’t speak for a long second. “The daffodil has many meanings, depending on the geographical region. It mainly symbolizes regard, respect, chivalry, uncertainty,—” Her voice turns somber, “—new beginnings, and unrequited love.”

Tony laughs at that. He laughs and laughs and laughs until he’s gasping for breath.

Oh, the irony.

The fucking irony.

* * *

At 4.38 am, the flip-phone buzzes.

_I’m sorry_, it says and Tony wants to laugh and laugh and laugh again but he spits a mouthful of flowers into his trash can instead. The taste of metal and nectar is bitter on his tongue.

_Fuck you_, he replies before coughing himself back to sleep.

* * *

Peter swings by one day with a box of doughnuts. One of them has red, white, and blue sprinkles.

Tony thinks of throwing it across the room. Instead, he pukes blood and flowers all over it.

At some point, he must’ve passed out because the next thing he knows, he’s sprawled across the couch in his workshop. Vision’s hovering next to Peter, murmuring to him in a low voice.

Peter jerks at Tony’s wheezing, his red eyes widening.

God, he’s so young. He’s so young and he’s crying and there’s blood on his T-shirt, fuck—

“Mr Stark—”

“Kid,” Tony begins as his throat tightens, “a word of advice – never fall in love.”

* * *

Eventually, the coughs become too frequent to hide and Tony knows that he has to disappear.

So he lies to the world about taking a long vacation. He locks himself in his workshop and spends his time ignoring calls and cursing himself to oblivion.

The only people that visit him are Rhodey, Vision, and Peter. Pepper tries to force her way in but Tony makes sure FRIDAY keeps her out. She doesn’t need to know. She doesn’t deserve this. They don’t deserve this. None of them do.

At some point, he sends them all away because he can’t stand the looks they throw at him. But since no one ever listens to him, they don't.

Tony isn’t sure whether he should be glad about it.

* * *

He checks the flip-phone one cloudy afternoon.

There are fifty-seven new messages.

* * *

Today, Natasha’s hair is bubblegum pink. Tony would’ve teased her endlessly if it isn’t for the daffodils threatening to pour out of his lips.

“Tony—”

“Don’t,” Tony snaps, his fingers tightening around his whiskey glass. “Just… Just don’t.”

Natasha exhales deeply. “I’ll call—”

“No! Don’t you _dare_.”

Her nostrils flare but she relents, crossing over to Tony’s desk.

“How’s he doing?”

“Last I heard, he’s fine.”

Tony raises an eyebrow.

Natasha fingers a pristine white petal. “I had…business to take care of.”

Tony nods in understanding before offering her a glass. They drink in silence and talk about everything under the sun. He misses her fiercely.

It’s a lifetime later when she rises to her feet and wraps her arms around his shoulders.

“See you soon,” she murmurs against his cheek and Tony hopes she’s not lying.

* * *

Every night, Tony dreams of sand and snow and hearts and he wakes up thinking that maybe, just maybe, he’s always meant to die.

* * *

“_Anthony Edward Stark_!”

Tony winces. He shouldn’t be surprised at the turn of events. He’s already amazed that he managed to keep the charade up for this long.

“Rhodey,” he rasps, “you fucking traitor.”

Pepper spends the rest of the afternoon screaming at him. Then when she’s tired of doing that, she breaks into tears and Tony does too because he’s so tired and sorry and tired and sick.

The three of them end up a heap on the floor, passing around a bottle of whiskey as they cry and reminisce. It’s wonderful and heart-wrenching and fuck, he’s going to miss them.

He’ll miss them so, so much.

“Are you going to tell him?” Pepper asks because she’s smart enough to know it’s no one else but him.

Tony shakes his head as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “Trust me. It’s better off this way.”

“Better off that you’re _dying_?”

Tony shrugs. “What difference would it make if he knows, anyway? I’m still gonna die.”

Rhodey makes a pained noise next to him.

* * *

Tony’s a genius with multiple PhDs. He has created Artificial Intelligence, Vision, a new element amongst other things. He should be able to formulate a cure to extract the flowers growing in his lungs.

But he can’t. He can’t and Tony hates how right Howard is.

How could he be a genius when he can’t even do this one simple thing?

* * *

He almost gives in one night.

Tony’s crimson-stained fingers hover over the keypad and he almost presses it. Almost tells the bastard to _love me, love me, please love me, I’m dying, I’m fucking—_

But since he’s a weak, weak man, he doesn’t.

* * *

“They’re pretty,” Tony tells his mother when she returns home with a large bouquet of yellow flowers.

Maria hums as she continues pruning a stalk. “They are, aren’t they?”

Since he’s five, Tony asks her what kind they are.

She flashes him a sad smile. “Daffodils.”

* * *

He puts all of his on-going projects on hold and starts a new one.

Tony makes one for Rhodey first because god knows the shit he has to put up with for the past two decades or so. He deserves so much better. He makes him the next Iron Man.

After that, he makes one for Pepper because she also puts up with too much of his shit and she deserves better too. She really does. He promises her enough money to buy herself a lifetime’s worth of shoes.

Then, he films one for Happy and Vision and Peter and Natasha before he knows it, he has over twenty recordings of him choking on his own blood and chugging down a bottle of alcohol and rambling about his hopes and regrets.

When he deems himself drunk enough, he makes one for Steve.

“I love you,” Tony murmurs before painting his floor red.

* * *

The petals are red, white, and blue and the blue’s just like Steve’s clear azure eyes but they’re drenched in blood and he hates and hates and hates and—

* * *

“It’s not your fault,” Rhodey tells him as Tony slides red on Ross for the millionth time.

Tony almost retorts but holds his tongue when he feels something stick to the back of his throat.

“You can’t choose who you fall in love with.”

Tony snorts because he’s unfortunately right.

Still, he’s stupid enough to fall for someone who’ll never love him back.

* * *

One day, his lungs give out.

It happens out of the blue. One moment, he’s furiously texting Peter in his workshop and the next, he’s lying on the floor, gasping for oxygen.

_I’m dying_, he thinks as he claws at his neck, frantic and desperate.

_I’m dying_, he thinks as FRIDAY mutters above his head.

_I’m dying_, he thinks as he watches a blue-haired Natasha falls onto her knees in front of him.

_I’m dying_, he thinks as Vision scoops him into his arms.

_I’m dying_, he thinks as doctors and nurses scream and run around him.

_I’m dead_, he thinks as Beefy Jesus stares back at him in horror.

* * *

When he wakes up, he expects to be burning in hell. A tiny part of him hopes he’d be lying on a fluffy cloud, being fed grapes and wine by Victoria Secret Model angels.

Instead, Beefy Jesus stares back at him with bloodshot eyes and his beard’s a mess and his hair isn’t long as it should be to earn that moniker but fuck, his eyes are still a clear azure and Tony’s _dying_.

“Tony.”

He shouldn’t be here. Tony’s dying and he shouldn’t be here. Why is he here?

_I’m dead_, Tony thinks. _I’m dead and hallucinating and Steve’s— Steve’s—_

“Tony?” Steve repeats. There’s a crimson stain marring the corner of his lips.

“Get out.”

“No,” he murmurs. “No, no, no.”

“Why’re you—?” Tony lets out another fit of coughs. A trash can is tucked under his nose suddenly. He spits out the bloodied daffodils.

Droplets trickle down his chin. A warm hand brushes against his lips. Tony jerks backwards. Steve flinches.

“Get. Out.”

“Tony, listen to me—”

“Why should I?” Tony demands. “After everything? Why should I listen to anything you say?”

“Because it can save your life. I—”

“Bullshit!”

“It’s true. I—” 

”You can’t— You can’t—”

Steve shoves a hand down his pocket and pulls out his fist. It’s bloodied.

“Here.”

There’s a mangled mess on Steve’s palm. For a moment, Tony’s confused until it hits him.

Red and gold.

They’re stained in a deeper shade of red but there’s no mistaking it. The petals in Steve’s palm are red and gold.

Tony’s heart hammers against his ribcage because _what the fuck, what the fuck, what the—?_

“Steve—”

“I love you,” Steve murmurs, curling his fingers around the petals. “I’ve loved you for a long time now. I was sure— so sure that you—” He sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t care if you never forgive me. I don’t care if you never want to see me again. But I need you to believe me when I say I love you.”

Tony swallows.

“Please,” Steve whispers and fuck, Tony has never heard anyone sound this desperate, this _broken_ in his life. “Please believe me.”

Tony squeezes his eyes shut and inhales.

He smells metal and nectar like he always does. But then there’s also antiseptic and bleach and stale coffee and— and—

The constriction in his lungs lessens.

* * *

If anyone asks Tony when did he first fall in love with Steve Rogers, he’d tell them it’s when Steve looked at him square in the eye and said, “We’ll do that together too.”

* * *

Because he’s Tony Stark and won’t shut the fuck up, he’s allowed back to the outside world after three days.

It’s strange to not have the urge to barf out blood and daffodils or regulate his breathing. But he’s glad. It’ll take some time getting used to it. But he’s very, very glad.

Steve waits for him in his workshop, fiddling with his flip-phone. His beard has magically disappeared. Tony mourns internally.

“I have to go.”

“I know.”

“I want to stay.”

“I know.”

Steve sighs, running his fingers through his hair. Tony’s tempted to do the same. “There are so many things I want to tell you. Talk to you about.”

Tony snorts. “A talk’s long overdue, huh?"

Steve’s lips quirk to the side. “Yeah.” He pauses, his fingers falling down to the nape of his neck. “Tony, I’m so—”

“Not now. Later. We can talk about it when I’m— I’m—” Tony cuts himself off, his heart skipping a beat.

He wonders if there will be a next time, if he'll ever be ready. He wonders if FRIDAY has shown him the video. He wonders how could he be alive.

“Okay,” Steve says, his features softening. Tony could hardly remember the last time someone looked at him with such affection and understanding, let alone Steve himself. “Do you want me to stay?”

Tony arches an eyebrow. “I thought you have to go.”

“I do.” Steve takes a tentative step forward. Tony wills himself to stay put. “But I can stay. If you want me to.”

Tony mulls the words over his head for a long second before surging forward.

Steve smells of mint and tastes of coffee. For the first time in a long time, Tony breathes easily.

**Author's Note:**

> Read more about Hanahaki [here.](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Hanahaki_Disease)
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](https://nethandrake.tumblr.com/%20rel=) and [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/kapteniron)
> 
> You can reblog this fic on Tumblr[here](https://kapteniron-archive.tumblr.com/post/189310368081/red-white-and-blue)!


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